


What it Takes

by Luna Draconis (LunaDraconis)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, No Spoilers, Not Canon Compliant, Sherlock is impressed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDraconis/pseuds/Luna%20Draconis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock thinks of most other people as a bit, well, boring. But all that is about to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What it Takes

"Please, Sherlock. This is a big case, and the men upstairs are cracking down on us. We've got to solve this, and fast." Lestrade practically begged.

Sherlock sighed. He could take the case, but it would be too easy to solve, he was sure of it. Lestrade was always overly dramatic, this was no exception. Besides, as much as he hated to admit it, Lestrade wasn't a complete imbecile. _He can solve the case himself. In the meantime, I've got to find something more... interesting._ He strolled off towards his bedroom, intending to leave John to deal with Lestrade.

"Damn... I didn't want to ask _her._ " Lestrade muttered. Sherlock froze. Now _that_ was interesting.

"Her who?" Sherlock asked. 

"What?" Lestrade was blank-faced. _Perhaps I've overestimated him._

"Her who?" Sherlock pressed.

"Oh- OH! Oh, nobody. I'd better get going, or I'll miss the train." Lestrade was fidgeting. Never a good sign.

"Lestrade." Sherlock said, stretching the name out with warning.

"It doesn't matter- I've got to go-"

* * *

Lestrade wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up accompanied by Sherlock Holmes and John Watson to her house, but he damn well wasn't happy about it. The very idea of it- well, it made him twitchy, no two ways about it. He finished the powdered donut he'd been working on - an indulgence he wasn't proud of, but was unwilling to give up - and finished his coffee. The train would be here entirely too soon for his nerves.

* * *

Lestrade raised his hand to knock on the door of apartment 34A, pausing only to glance back at Holmes and Watson. _Damn them for tagging along..._ He knocked, and then waited impatiently. The door opened almost immediately after, as he had known it would.

* * *

Sherlock looked down, surprised to find a small, blonde woman inside the doorway. She looked startlingly young to be helping the police with any matter, much less murder, and her bearing dated her at only the mid-twenties. She stood there for a moment, turning to take the three of them in. Then she stepped back and gestured them inside. 

The three men stood in the entryway awkwardly, none sure what to do at this point. Lestrade was still vaguely hoping that Holmes would get bored and take Watson with him. The young woman closed the door, then turned back to the men.

"Well? Take off your coats, make yourselves comfortable." Her accent said she was American, midwest. Her voice was light, with a hint of laughter, which only added to the youthful appearance. She gestured to her coat rack, then waited patiently for them to comply.

"Yes, Marie." Lestrade grumbled.

"Now. You must be Mr. Holmes," she said confidently, holding her hand out to him. He shook it, hesitantly. "And that makes you Watson," she said, turning grey-blue eyes to Watson, hand again outstretched. "I've heard so much about the two of you."

"God, how old _are_ you?" Watson breathed. 

"Watson! You don't ask a woman that!" Lestrade looked absolutely mortified.

"It's fine, Lestrade." She glanced back at Watson. "I'm 24. Why don't you all sit down?"

"We're just here to ask you to work on this case with us- with the department, I mean." Lestrade rushed to say, even though Watson and Sherlock were already making themselves comfortable.

"Lestrade, I hope you know you're wasting your time coming here." She said, softly, walking over to the sofa. "You know, I don't understand how you can drink the coffee at the station. It's just glorified water." She picked up her glass of tea, sipping at it thoughtfully.

"I like it," Lestrade lied, gruffly. He liked the ritual of a cup of coffee at the train station, had done it for years.

"No, you don't." She replied with an outright laugh. She glanced at him, then, "You've got powder on your cuff, and on your shirtfront, you know."

Lestrade looked down, realizing his state of dishevelment. "Damn, that's impressive."

Sherlock looked bemused. What was that supposed to mean? Lestrade was looking at him. . . 

"Marie?" Lestrade held Sherlock's gaze.

"Yes?"

"Could you grab me a glass of water, and a napkin to clean myself up?"

"Of course." She set her teacup back down.

Lestrade waited until she had left the room, then moved the rug in the center of the living room 4 inches to Sherlock's left. He gave Sherlock and Watson a look, and pressed one finger to his lips.

Marie returned a moment later with a teacup full of water, and the requested napkin. She walked over the rug, then bent to place the glass on the table. 

She missed.

The glass shattered on the floor. Marie stared at it for a moment.

"My god, are you alright?" Watson was there in a heartbeat, picking up the pieces of the glass for her. "What happened?" 

"Oh. . ." Lestrade watched the lightbulbs going off in Sherlock's head. "I didn't realize... How...?"

"You owe me a new teacup." Marie stated matter-of-factly to Lestrade.

Watson still didn't understand. "What? Why does he owe-" 

"She's blind, Watson." Sherlock cut in as Lestrade helped her sit before moving the carpet back into position.

"What? But. . . She met my eye when we shook hands? She knew who we were. . . She knew Lestrade had powder on his shirt, for god's sake!"

"I am rather wondering how she managed that myself, actually." Sherlock turned his brown eyes to the woman in question, impressed despite himself.

"Easy," she shrugged, "I can feel a person's breath. Based on that, I can figure out proportions, telling me where their eyes are. People smell different when they're stressed, and when he comes to see me after seeing you, he has a particular smell, which was stronger today. Two people are with him, and he was bound to bring you here eventually. The smell of pathetically weak coffee told me he had coffee waiting for the train, and he never has the train coffee without one of their powdered donuts. And, god love him, he can't keep the powder off his shirt." She grabbed her tea again, and sat back to enjoy it.

Watson was wide-eyed. "I can see why you consult with the police."

"I don't." 

"But I thought-"

Lestrade finally cut in. "She used to consult with us, but hasn't taken a case since. . ."

"Since I went blind. No point in pussy-footing around it." Marie finished her tea. "I suppose the polite thing to do would be to offer a cup to you all? I can make coffee, too."

"Coffee would be nice, thank you." Watson looked like he wanted to wrap Marie in a blanket and console her, but was holding together nicely.

Now _this_ wasn't boring. This wasn't boring at all.


End file.
